


Late Night Sadness Madness

by hanarobi



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-16
Updated: 2010-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanarobi/pseuds/hanarobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Incoherent Viggo angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Sadness Madness

It's too late at night to get anything done for the day and have it count as something I did today. So I accomplished nothing today. Even if I get to work right now and do amazing things. None of it counts for tomorrow since it will have been done before tomorrow. None of it counts for today since today is too close to being over. So I will accomplish great things and there will not be a time for those things to be counted in.

Seems to happen a lot.

Okay, so why is it 2:30 am Sunday night/Monday morning and I am just now settling in to getting work done when I had all of Saturday, Saturday night, and all day Sunday. Fuck ……something. Hmmmm. I was going to say `fuck this' but I'm just not sure what `this'is. My routine? My procrastination habits? My procrastination hobbits? Yeah. Because that's the problem isn't it? Hobbits. Nasty little mindfucking hobbits. Why can't they just go off and be happy little hobbits? Sad hobbits are going to be the death of me. And the death of my career.

I hate my career right now. I hate success. I hate the restrictions that success place on me. I do soooo much better in the underdog position. In the "defiant, I'll show them, how dare they doubt me, how dare they not all fall at my feet worshipping the wonderfulness that is me" position, and yet, they did. Fucking assholes. So what the hell am I suppose to do now? Hard to move with wankers all over the place, worshipping at your feet. They are going to trip me. Trip me up. That's what they really wanted anyway. They didn't care that I was good at my job. They just wanted to set me up to watch me fall. Don't want to disappoint the fans, now do we? So I think I will fall. A huge, massive belly flop. There are so many ways I could pull this off. Die. Go insane. Get caught out. Fuck the kid with the Frodo eyes. Or just pull the covers over my head and not show up for work.

I know what it is to be a writer, even a great writer. It is to see into the depths of your soul and not gag at the stench, and then to take those very dark, private thoughts that you would not tell your deepest, truest friend no matter what and put those thoughts down on paper for all the world to read. What I do not know is why on earth anyone would want to do this. So I am going to try to do it. I know the thoughts are there in the cesspool but I haven't got them down on paper yet. Tiny little dribbles of resistance to overcome yet. Like that screaming sound of common sense, shrieking at me "What the fuck are you doing? Stop!" Never really like to be screamed at. And yet I listen. And pull back. I won't tell, not yet anyway, maybe not ever, what made me gag.


End file.
